A New Hope
by Suzie's Q
Summary: Lost in battle, James has left Lily to keep going without him there. Yet, Lily finds there is always light in the darkness. AU.


Don't own Harry Potter. Or anything, really.

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**A New Hope  
**Summary: Lost in battle, James has left Lily to keep going without him there. Yet, Lily finds there is always light in the darkness. AU.  
Pairing: J/L  
Word Count: 6,062  
Rating: K+

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There was an old trait in the Evans family – though Lily considered it more a curse – that the women of the family always knew, as if from an external but completely credible source, that something horrible had happened. Lily found that, in her own experience, a more accurate description of this quality was that they knew when something horrible was _currently _happening, something terrible, but very far away and they were never sure exactly where, apart from _far_, so that they could do nothing about it.

It was very late in the night, or rather, extremely early in the morning, and Lily Potter, a member of this particular Evans family, though her married name suggested otherwise, was wide awake. This was for several reasons.

One, no one had done her the courtesy of telling her that morning sickness did _not _occur just in the morning, as its name would have you believe, but rather, any time of the livelong day.

The second reason was that Lily rarely slept well in the nights anymore. She lived with her husband in an apartment in London – Muggle London, at that – and they had yet to grow accustomed to the noise that carried on until the break of dawn. Luckily, Lily managed to sleep through this most nights. But every so often – far _too _often for Lily – there would come a night during which sleep would evade her, no matter how much she tossed and turned.

She couldn't even toss and turn tonight, because she was just starting to show, and it made it extremely uncomfortable to lie on her stomach, as well as worrying the first time mother to death. She knew that if James were there, he would have laughed and told her she was paranoid, and told her that she needn't worry. It seemed that crushing their unborn child during the night was unlikely.

The third reason was the most pressing, and had never happened before. She had not gone to bed, opting to wait up by the fire – it was still remarkably cold, for May (and she hoped the summer weather would arrive, however overdue), or maybe she was just cold, as she sat frozen and silent, waiting – waiting for her husband to come home.

There had been an urgent message sent that Sirius had been attacked, he was hurt, and they needed James to come and get him. That had been about three hours ago.

So, the third reason that a very worried and pregnant Lily Potter could not sleep was that her husband was yet to return. And she had _that feeling. _That feeling common to all Evans women, which was most unwelcome.

She could practically hear James laughing, and he'd kiss her cheek and place both his hands on her swelling stomach, beaming down at her. Don't worry, he'd be saying right about now. It's not good for the baby.

Lily made an earnest attempt – because she was tired, and she knew James would want her to get a good night's sleep – but try as she may, she couldn't get comfortable enough to sleep. She never went to bed without him; it felt wrong.

Light had spilled over the horizon before there was any movement or contact. She was watching as the pale pinks and oranges slowly bled into purples and eventually a very pale blue, and her hands were curled protectively over her bulging stomach. The voice in the back of her mind – James' voice – telling her that she was being irrational, not to worry, that everything would be fine, had long since been silenced.

She could barely even _think _at all, and the only sound that registered with her was the ticking of the old clock on the mantelpiece, which had belonged to James' father (that being the only reason it still took up residence in their apartment). The birds outside were only just beginning their song to signal that morning had come, and once she heard it, she willed them to stop. It _couldn't _be morning. She knew better than to think that James would leave her, or abandon her, and he had never been stuck out this late before.

The feeling in her gut only intensified. If he wasn't back by now, there was one and only one explanation. Something horrible had happened, as her sixth sense had predicted.

She was only half-surprised, therefore, when a solemn and hesitant knock came, just as she was able to see the sun peeking out behind the skyline. She expected Emmeline, who usually made these sorts of house calls for the Order, or maybe Remus. What she did not expect was Mad-Eye Moody, sweeping into her apartment the moment she'd opened the door and stumping around, evidently to check the perimeter.

Lily wasn't quite accustomed to seeing Moody without the rest of his nose – a chunk of it had recently been blasted off – and she flinched away before she could stop herself, quietly closing the door and wringing her hands together to stop them shaking.

She didn't know if Moody was speaking or not. Suddenly her heartbeat was thudding in her ears. Her throat was tight and constricted, and she had to sit down, because it had started to feel like the world was spinning.

She was surprised at how _not _surprised she appeared, but it didn't make this any easier.

Moody stood in front of the fireplace, which had dwindled down to cinders at this point, and looked at her unapologetically.

"We thought he'd be here," he was saying gruffly, running his fingers through his scraggly, matted hair. "We don't know where he's gone, Evans."

He'd never gotten out of the habit of calling her that.

She stared. He'd gone to collect Sirius – the _Order _were the ones that sent him a message. How could they have lost him? Her questions must have been written on her face, because Moody answered them without prompt.

"It was an ambush, Evans. They followed us on our way back. Cornered us. Tried to get into the Headquarters. We only barely held them back. Half of our lot are in Mungo's right now."

Lily's heart leapt into her throat, but she forced herself to speak.

"And – and James?"

"We don't know," he told her, looking unusually grave about it. His voice was low and solemn, but Lily had a suspicion that he wasn't mourning anything other than the loss of a great fighter. "The last we saw, he was duelling one of 'em at the corner of the road, pushing him back. Something blew up, we looked around, both Potter and the Death Eater - gone."

Lily was silent, her hands folded in her lap, while the scene played out in her mind. James, _her_ James, covered in dust and blood and grime, his face set in roguish determination while he fired hexes, and Lily knew what would be on his mind as he fought, fought for his _life, _a fact that was so very rarely realized or taken into account in the midst of battle. His child, and his wife, waiting at home for him. He had to make it back. That was what he always fought for.

At her silence, Moody felt the need to continue. "We don't know if they took him, or if they chased him, or if he got away. All we know is what we don't know."

All we know is what we don't know. It sounded like their entire lives, packed into one simple statement.

"And we don't know where he is, Lily," he said, his voice dropping. Lily looked up in alarm at the use of her first name, but she was too preoccupied to really notice it. She was too busy with her whole world falling apart. "No one knows where he is."

"Well, we'll go out and look for him," Lily said, already getting slowly to her feet.

"I've got people on it, Evans," he told her quickly, pushing on her shoulder – remarkably gently – until she plopped back into her seat. "And I've got orders specifically from Potter –"

"From when?"

"From about six months ago, and I'm not about to let you go out on the field in your current state. Potter would have my neck and my good leg if he knew."

Lily wrinkled her nose, and though she felt a rush of affection for James at that, she still folded her arms and glared up at him, annoyed.

"You won't let me go look for my own husband?" she questioned, her voice cool.

"No," he told her, chuckling grimly. "Your _husband _won't let you go looking for him. He told us about six months ago, we weren't to let anything happen to you if something happened to him."

Lily frowned. It wasn't like Moody to take a personal interest – as far as he was concerned, the fight was the most important thing and if you got killed during it, then you died with honour – but Lily had a feeling that Moody was particularly fond of James.

"When?" she demanded, taking deep breaths.

Moody just shrugged.

He looked around again suspiciously, before nodding gruffly. "I'm sure we'll find him soon, Evans. We'll keep you updated."

She nodded, offered him a cup of tea, which he declined by leaving in an awful hurry – perhaps to deliver the same news to someone else – and Lily trudged into the bedroom, which seemed so much larger and so much lonelier since she had last been in it.

She couldn't keep her yawns at bay, and she knew she'd have to sleep eventually, so she tucked herself up in the sheets and pretended he was lying beside her. And surely, when she woke up, James would be back with her, safe and sound.

But he wasn't.

Lily woke very late in the afternoon, but not to her loving husband pressing kisses all over her face until she swore she'd get up, not to lovely homemade pancakes or waffles or omelettes – James had developed a passion for Muggle cooking recently – or to James' excited face asking her how his baby was, if she needed anything, placing his hands on her stomach and waiting, _waiting _for a kick, a sign that his little boy – "It's a boy, Lily, it's definitely a boy," – was there.

She didn't quite know what to do with herself that day. She was never lonely when pregnant, but the house was uncommonly quiet. It wasn't a comfortable silence, but rather a threatening one. An ominous silence, and it made Lily uneasy. She refused to leave the house, even when she realized they were out of milk and butter. She needed to be here when James came home.

She waited all day, thankful that she had successfully persuaded James to let them keep a Muggle television in the flat (she found that she didn't have much desire to do anything but sit on the sofa with her feet up, and the television made that activity far less boring).

One day quickly dissolved into a second day. Two days stretched into three days far too quickly. On the third, she forced herself down to the shops to get the milk and butter, but hurried back. She no longer felt comfortable outside her own home.

She varied between spending all her time asleep, or barely sleeping at all, waiting up and staring at the clock, certainthat James would walk through at any second. People passed in and out to see her, to make sure she was still feeding herself and the baby and managing alright. She hardly noticed.

She realized that she preferred the times when she could bring herself to sleep. She didn't want to think of what she was sure everyone else had so readily, so carelessly presumed. After all, it wasn't _their _whole world, what would they care? She could hardly bear to think it, think the very words. Her vision seemed tainted red with the pain, a hollow feeling where her heart was, and a tight feeling in her chest. Her heart gave painful twangs whenever she thought of it, whenever it was spoken of, when she looked at the pictures scattered through the apartment. When someone spoke his _name... _

The only thing that kept Lily from insanity was her faith, her unshakeable, resolute faith that her husband was coming home to her, any day now. He'd just gotten lost along the way, that was all... Held up, that was all it was. But in her heart of hearts, fear began to unfurl like a poisoned flower, spreading through her and leaving her paralyzed with terror, with a long path that was her life stretching out ahead of her, suddenly very dark and lonesome.

On the fourth day, Emmeline came to see her. Emmeline had been in the Order since its inception, and she was a good bit older than Lily – about fifteen years, Lily would wager – but they had become quite close in Lily's short time as a member of the Order. Emmeline was kind. Emmeline understood.

She sat Lily down on the sofa and asked her how she was feeling.

Lily stared at the wall opposite her, her face sculpted into the uncomfortable stiff frown that she hadn't been able to shake for the last four days, as she replied monotonously: "I'm fine. He'll be home soon, there's no need to worry."

Emmeline was too wise to try and contradict Lily. She laid a gentle hand on Lily's shoulder. "Lily, is there anything I can get for you?"

Lily bit back her bitter retort – "My husband, perhaps," – and settled for shaking her head, forcing her tears back as they prickled at the back of her eyes. She had refused to let herself cry in four days. She would not break. He would be home before she'd finished, and terribly upset at seeing her in tears.

When she spoke, it was difficult. She felt like her heart was in her throat, and if she spoke too much, she would choke on her own fear. Her heart ached for longing and missing him. Her hands shook whenever she tried to move them from their position on her lap.

"No, I'm alright."

Emmeline nodded. "You know you have to keep going. Keep eating. For the baby, remember?"

Lily turned to stare at her – her dear friend, with kind blue eyes and a soft, sympathetic expression – and resisted the urge to yell, to slap, to kick out and scream, _anything. _"You say that as if he's already dead," she choked out venomously, and found she had to wipe her eyes hurriedly, impatiently.

"Oh, no, _no Lily, _of course not," she said quickly, shaking her hands. "I'm just saying that James would be – will be terribly upset when he gets home and found you haven't been eating properly. He wants you to take care of the baby while he's – away."

Lily nodded, wrinkling her nose, and felt another pang as she realized how much she missed and craved James' chocolate chip pancakes. Not only that, but how much she missed and craved everything and anything about him, everything he did for her, his scent, his smile, his eyes, his arms. She swallowed another lump in her throat, and made a mental note not to think of James' chocolate chip pancakes again. It only led to worse things.

"I know. I've been eating. I'll eat," she told Emmeline, nodding and twiddling her thumbs together, tucking one nail under the other as an attempt to distract herself.

"Do you want me to stay?" Emmeline offered, and if Lily had been in any fit state to notice, she would have acknowledged that Emmeline's offer was as kind as her nature, but instead, she ignored it.

"He's coming back," she told the older woman, her voice shaking with emotion, but oddly firm at the same time. "I promise you. He's coming back."

She looked away so that she wouldn't have to suffer the embarrassment of having the older woman see her cry, though she knew, with any rationality she still possessed, that it was perfectly acceptable for a young girl whose husband had been missing for four days to cry.

"I swear he is," she hissed, more to herself than anything else, reaching for it and yanking a tissue from the box with a vigour that matched her resolution, her fury, her pain. She had never felt such pain, like someone had set her very veins on fire and was burning her to ashes from the inside out.

Emmeline was looking at her with a pitying expression. Lily shied away from it. She had no desire or need for pity. Emmeline only pitied her because she did not believe, as Lily did, that he was coming home.

And he _was. _There was no doubt in Lily's mind. He would fight tooth and nail, with everything he had, to get home to his baby. Lily shuddered and dismissed the thought that he might not be home by the time the baby came. The prospect of going through the next _week _without him was terrifying, let along the rest of the pregnancy.

"I'm going to stay," Emmeline told her, taking Lily's failure to answer as assent.

Emmeline stayed most nights, and when she couldn't, she was always careful to appoint someone else to keep an eye on Lily. Usually, it was another girl from the Order. They were all older than Lily – the youngest being Marlene McKinnon, who was five years older than Lily, and the oldest being Hestia Jones, of whose age Lily wasn't certain, but she would have estimated about twenty years older – and it made her feel juvenile, though she never voiced this.

The one person she wanted for company was her husband. Apart from that, the person she would have liked with her the most was Alice. Alice was cheerful and bubbly, but she shared that same fervent and indestructible hope that Lily clung on to. If Alice was here, she wouldn't have shot her a sympathetic, disbelieving smile when Lily insisted James was coming home. She wouldn't have pitied her. Alice would have believed her. In fact, Alice would have constantly assured her that James would saunter through that door any second now, with an exciting (and dreadfully exaggerated) story to tell.

But Alice was not here to tell her those things. Alice was dead, and had been for months now. She had perished, along with her loving husband. She had died with a baby still in her womb, a little bundle of joy, her own little miracle that she would never know.

And Lily was painfully aware that it could have easily been her. She, who had also defied Voldemort thrice, whose child was due at the end of the seventh month, could have been the one Voldemort had chosen, had killed. Maybe it was thanks to Alice and Frank that Lily and James were still alive. And all the good it did; James was still missing. But not dead, she told herself fiercely. She'd know. She'd feel it.

Whenever she thought of Alice, wishing the girl, who had only been six or seven years older than Lily, was there, she found more tears stinging the back of her eyes. By the second week, she was so tired of crying, so tired of spending her entire day fighting back her tears, because she had to be brave, because James wanted her to be brave.

Lily felt as though she had strayed into a dream as a week slowly, excruciatingly, bled into two weeks. Silence fell, and Lily fell into it. She had run out of things to say.

Two weeks, three weeks, four weeks, seemed like the longest of times. She started to forget the smallest of things, that had once brought her so much joy, but now only left a dark, chilling pain in their wake. She went hours without thinking of the way James' face would light up when he felt his baby kicking – and the warmth it would bring to her heart – or the way he would catch her off guard and wrap his arms around her while she waited for her coffee, and would sway with her gently, and she would feel his smiling lips against her shoulder or her neck.

She didn't go to bed thinking of the way he'd tap her nose after she'd scrunched it up. And when she remembered it, she'd feel her heart clench so tightly she struggled to regain her breath.

She started to forget exactly how his grin was slightly lopsided. She forgot small things, the tiniest details. But they always came rushing back to her, and when they did, it was like a new wound all over again, and all it did was hurt even worse than the time before.

And they always did come rushing back in the end. She started to forget, but never for long. She didn't want to forget. She hated herself for the way she was beginning to lose her grip on these details. But when they came flooding back to her, in a frenzy to break her heart once more, they brought even more pain.

She shouldn't have forgotten. Lily still found it hard to believe. The world hadn't stopped turning, life was still moving on as it always did, and yet James wasn't here. She hated more than anything that forgetting the tiniest of things had become routine. That was one of the worst things. She didn't _want _to become used to missing her husband, to slowly losing touch with all the things about him that she loved the most.

She didn't want to head for a time when forgetting small details had led to forgetting much bigger details, and barely knowing the man she married at all. It brought her pain to think that she might even wake up one day and not immediately think of him. To not know every line and inch of his face, to not have the memory of his smile permanently etched on the back of her eyelids. To forget was so painful.

But to remember them was to bring such pain upon herself, a different kind of pain. Breaking open the wounds that had just begun to heal.

Lily voiced this to no one. She was becoming horrifyingly aware that her baby was well on the way. In fact, every day she was forced to face the notion that she was running out of time. But there were still preparations to be made for the baby's arrival, and she knew that James would be disappointed if she _ever _let those kind of thoughts defeat her.

So she got up every day, and ignored the memories, and ignored the pain when she realized she'd forgotten them for a few hours, and she ate a healthy breakfast and did everything she was supposed to. Because she had her baby boy – even _she _had started to think of it as a boy, something she'd picked up from James – and she had people who needed her to be strong.

And that included James. He might not have been there, but that didn't mean that Lily could overlook the fact, that she knew exactly what he would want from her. To keep going. If the eventuality was that he wasn't coming home, he would want her to carry on and raise his little boy, and she would do it.

But aside from what James wanted from her, Lily dwelled endlessly on what she _needed. _She could do this alone, but that had never been what she wanted, what she imagined her life to be. She needed him to come back, so she could stop thinking the worst, so she could stop picturing him, lying beaten, bloody and broken somewhere.

She would _never _be the same without James. She disgusted herself, really, when she had a spare moment to think about it, how easily she fell back into the pattern of her – _new, _she realized – life. She wasn't selfish enough to call earth, Hell and Heaven itself to a stop while James was gone. She was selfish enough to wish it. She did everything asked of her, James' voice spurring her on in the back of her mind. But she knew that her need for him was stronger than her determination to keep going, stronger than his desire for her to keep going. And one day, she would crack.

Days wore on ceaselessly, the last remnants of Spring that had clung on long since melted into a hazy summer. Lily grew restless and lethargic at the same time. She spent more time asleep as her due date drew closer. She could hardly bear to stay aware for very long anymore, as her mind never seemed to quieten or calm for five seconds, and she grew weary of torturing herself with her own thoughts.

Her thoughts, which had become increasingly dark as the long hours grew longer. She started to think of not just her own awful situation, but of James'. It was torture to have no knowledge, no inkling of what might have happened to him, and while she had hope, irremovable hope, she still found herself fearing, imagining the worst. She imagined him being tortured, body broken beyond repair. She imagined every inch of his skin ripped and grazed and raw, his teeth cracked and bloody, and a deadness in his eyes that she would never be able to change or fix, and when he looked at her – if he ever got the chance again – he wouldn't even see her.

Maybe he didn't think of her anymore. Maybe he was beginning to forget little bits of her too, and the physical pain was so great that there _was _no emotional pain from forgetting. Maybe he was so broken, nothing existed but the wand pointing at him.

She could only hope that he wouldn't beg, or wish for death, not when she was at home, waiting for him.

She missed the feel of protective hands on her stomach, tracing over the curve tentatively, especially during the night. It had made her feel safe, and James' face was full of boyish wonder when he'd exclaim how he couldn't believe how big she'd gotten.

She missed it especially during the night. The bed seemed so large, even with her bulging stomach, and she had trouble getting comfortable every time she tried to sleep.

And when she did sleep, she suffered endless nightmares that left her awake in the darkest hours of the night, waking in a cold sweat or shivering, and staring at the wall opposite. She refused potions, recoiling from them with her arms curved protectively around her stomach.

The day it all caught up with her was a stiflingly hot day at the end of July. Remus, Sirius and Peter had come to visit her, all with grim and solemn expressions. Lily wasn't sure if she was imagining it, but it felt like they were afraid to look her in the eye. She didn't blame them. They probably held more truth and pain than they needed to see.

Lily was standing facing the mantelpiece, and an awkward silence had descended over the four. Never had James' absence been so glaringly obvious. She couldn't help but see bits of him in his friends – the way they talked, the way Remus tapped his fingers on his knees, the way Sirius would run his hands through his hair. She saw him everywhere.

"Lily, it's been weeks," Remus was saying, his voice soft but apologetic.

"Months," Sirius croaked.

"And you can't keep living in a vacuum," Remus continued, looking at her with a pained expression. Lily bit her lip to stop the tears she could feel prickle the backs of her eyes.

"Please don't," she mumbled.

"Lily, it's time to ... you know, get on with your life," Remus said, in the gentlest voice he could manage.

"My life?" she repeated. "My life was meant to be with my _husband. _My whole life. And he's _not here." _

"He wouldn't want you to wallow," Remus pointed out.

"Well, I suppose we'll never know because he's not here, and don't you _dare tell me he's not coming back," _she said, shrilly, once she saw the expression on his face. "I don't care what you believe, don't you dare say that to me."

The three boys were quiet for a minute, wearing identical solemn expressions. They looked almost as bad as Lily felt. They looked as though something fundamental – a lung or an arm or something – had been ripped from them, without warning, without consolation, and they would never be the same.

Lily knew the feeling.

"Lily, we're all here," Peter said in a kind voice. Lily flinched away, repressing the urge to strangle the nearest neck. "We'll be here for whatever you need..." He trailed off, looking lost, and turned to his friends for help.

Remus took over again. "We won't let you do this by yourself, you don't have to. We'll be here to help with the baby, anything you need."

Lily sat down, trying to keep her breathing regular. "What I need is my husband," she said in a small voice. "And I appreciate what you're trying to do, I really do. But it's not what I need right now. It's not helping, and I'm not ready to give up just yet."

They all went silent, and eventually, with apologetic murmurs, the boys agreed, and left.

Lily went into labour three days later, sent a message to Remus and Sirius straight away, not caring who got there first, and breathed through the pain as she waited. She wasn't ready. She couldn't do this without him.

She'd believed in the weeks leading up to this day that she didn't have the strength left in her. She didn't have any strength at all. And if someone asked her, she wouldn't have been able to tell them where she found the strength, but she found it _somewhere, _perhaps buried deep in the knowledge that she wasn't just doing this for the baby. She was doing this for James, she was doing this because he wanted nothing more.

Finally, she discovered that there was a physical pain that could match her emotional pain. So many times, amongst the pain, and the screaming and the sweat and blood, she had felt like giving up, felt like she had nothing more left to give. And there was no James beside her, holding her hand – later he would joke about having broke his hand in half – and telling her one more push, just one more, she could do it, just one more.

So she let herself imagine it instead, imagine his voice, imagine his face when the Healers passed his first child into his arms. And somewhere, deep down, she found strength.

It took thirty-three hours to bring the little boy into the world, with wide innocent eyes, tufts of black hair just like his father's and his father's nose. She held him in her arms as his tears ceased, and when he blinked up at her, she felt a long forgotten happiness, an unfamiliar smile spreading across her face.

He gripped her finger in his tiny, chubby hand, and amidst her exhaustion, Lily was so overwhelmed by so many mingled, conflicting emotions, all she could really do was cry and hold him to her. He was so beautiful, and he was safe and healthy. He was so small, and he knew nothing of the place he had just arrived in. He was barely even aware that one of the most important people in his life was missing from him.

Lily had never loved anything more.

His tiny, pink face eased the perpetual ache in her chest a little, and she knew he would always dull her sadness so that she could feel joy, so that she could be his mother and provide for him without her melancholy crippling her from performing such a task. She loved him enough for that.

And yet it felt bittersweet. As perfect as he was, what she wanted more than anything in the world was for James to be there, to see his son – who seemed to remind Lily so much of James, but she couldn't be sure if she only felt that way because he had been away from her for so long, and he was the first thing to bring such a clear picture back into her head, it almost felt like she was with him again – to hold him and tell him what a marvellous Quidditch player he would fashion him into.

They hadn't even had a chance to discuss a name for this tiny little thing, completely James and Lily, who relied on them – or just her, rather – to care for him and love him, not knowing anything different.

She named him Harry, after her grandfather, and with tears leaking from her eyes again – tears of joy, tears of relief and tiredness, tears of sadness and longing, of everything – she made a silent prayer that James would like the name, when he returned.

If he returned.

Reality had hit Lily with a dull blow, but a blow all the same. She could not keep living in the vacuum, in the purgatory she was currently in, neither here nor there. Now she had to care for another living being, one who could not care for himself, and one whom she loved so unconditionally, she would do anything for him. And that meant moving on; even when the prospect seemed so bleak and impossible, she wanted nothing else but to crawl up in a ball and wait for this nightmare to end.

It wasn't a nightmare anymore. There was a light in this darkness, and he was sleeping soundly in her arms on the night he'd been born, while she sat up and rocked him gently. She had already lost someone so precious to her, she couldn't bear to leave another out of her arms for a second longer than she had to.

She could not keep waiting. Now, at last, it was as clear as crystal. She would have to go on with her life, and hope that James would forgive her, if he returned, or if they found him.

She had not realized that they had not discussed names until one had been asked of her, and silent sobs had racked her body as the thought struck her. It was impossible – though she tried – not to realize in that moment that there was a chance that James would never get to see his son. That they would _never _get a chance to talk about names, about whether he liked the name that she had chosen in his absence.

Harry made it easier. It wasn't _easy, _but she found that it wasn't as hard as it had been to get up in the morning – even at three or four in the morning when he was hungry – because she knew that there was a little miracle waiting for her, needing her, a piece of James that he'd left to her to look after. It gave her a purpose again. It made her miss him more than ever, miss things they had never even known – like getting up at four in the morning, like laughing when Harry made funny noises or giggled, like cooing over him when he cried – and every time she looked at her little baby, she could not help but think of James, that he should have been there.

But Harry would take her finger and she'd know that James would be so proud of her, so happy, whether he was alive or not, and she couldn't let herself wallow in despair when this little thing needed her so much. He gave her a reason to keep going.

It didn't take away the pain. Not when he smiled like James or had his nose, or his black hair. But the feel of his hand clutching her finger, he eased the pain. He was a comfort. He was her future, and he assured her that she would still have one, even with her husband gone.

He kept James alive, in his own way.

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Thanks to Rhiannon for her expert beta-reading. Thanks for reading! There will be a follow-up to this, but it will be posted separately, so if you liked, please keep an eye out for it!


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